


four eggs, bacon, and wheat toast

by katietonks



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 16:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katietonks/pseuds/katietonks
Summary: Bucky Barnes, head waiter at an insignificant diner, has a well-rehearsed routine for his job - at least until a new customer changes it over the span of a week.





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> After pouring my absolute heart and soul into "disarmed," processing a ton of complex emotions, I needed to write something completely different - just silly, light-hearted, and not too serious (with a hint of drama to keep things interesting). I hope you enjoy reading my go-to suave, confident characters being totally inept at flirting and can laugh at my own experiences from being a waitress at an insignificant diner.

6:00 AM, _fuck._ Even after years of opening the diner, that time still felt far, _far_ too early. The straight line created by the hour and minute hands – well, what they _would_ create if their wall clock wasn’t permanently a couple minutes behind – didn’t even look real. It wasn’t that being awake and at work at this ungodly hour kept him from sleep, because he hardly did that anyway. No, it was more that Bucky hated being awake and at work just to stand there, doing absolutely nothing.

He only needed fifteen minutes to complete his prep work. Beginning in the kitchen, he greeted Peggy who was already there, heating up gravies and making batters, to then restock the different breads that were running low before flipping on the toasters. He grabbed containers of butter and creamer cups for his own serving area behind the half-wall that separated the wait staff’s counter from the dining room. There, he refilled the ice beneath the soda machine, doing laps to the ice maker in the back and feeling the heat radiating from the toasters grow warmer with each pass, put the nozzles back on each off-brand soda streamer, and turned on the light of the juice machine. He grabbed a handful of straws for his apron and sliced a few lemons, all the while double-checking his supply of tea bags and honey packets. After filling the buckets with sanitizer to buss the tables, he flicked on the main lights above the dining room, cringing at the harsh, buzzing fluorescents and then stood at the entrance, staring down at his phone. He waited until the very last second to unlock the front door and plug in the _OPEN_ sign before returning to his cove. Lastly, he brewed the coffee with a yawn, always exhausted, and poured a mug for himself when it finished percolating, only filling one pot as he knew to expect a slow Monday. Despite the time, he truly loved this aspect of his job; everything had a precise, particular order that was perfectly efficient.

_Easy._

With everything ready to go, it was now time to wait.

Bucky sighed and brought over a cup of tea to the kitchen window. No thanks were needed, just another part of the routine, but regardless, Peggy muttered a sincere, “Thank you,” as she took a sip. Beginning the never-ending chore of rolling silverware, Bucky smiled in reply, absorbing himself as much as possible in the monotonous process. The two worked in harmonious silence, separated only by the heat lamps, with Peggy whisking away at a pot on top of the stove and Bucky placing, folding, and wrapping the silverware in napkins.

They had about half an hour until their first regular would arrive; however, the bells above the door clanged together only a few minutes later. “Hm,” Peggy said with her back turned to Bucky while she chopped onions, “Carol’s early today.”

Bucky shrugged and left the kitchen to welcome her at her usual table, right beside the service area. Except, that table was empty. Pausing mid-step, he scanned the dining area to see empty table upon empty table until he spotted – a man, sitting in the farthest corner booth. He silently gasped and quickly returned to the window.

The look of shock on his face must have allowed Peggy to infer, “Not Carol?”

Eagerly, he shook his head.

“Stranger?”

He nodded.

“Man?”

Another nod.

“Alone?”

Nod.

She grinned. “Handsome?”

An enthusiastic nod.

Her eyes widened with intrigue. “And where would you say he falls on the Patent-Pending Barnes-Carter Hotness Meter?”

Pursing his lips, he thought for a moment. “I’d give him a solid ‘bacon grease in the eye.’”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Not funny.”

“For you.”

“Wow,” she said, thinking back to their new customer, “that might be even higher than ‘overflowing the coffee maker and rather than using a rag or spare pot, catching the scalding liquid with your bare hand.’”

He crossed his arms. “Still not funny.”

“Well, shall I pop out of the kitchen and say hi?” She sensed Bucky’s hesitation. “Damn it, I had the first pass with the Scandinavian lumberjack, didn’t I?” Trying to mask his smirk, Bucky nodded. “I’m still certain that you saw the ring and didn’t tell me so that I’d waste my turn!”

Bucky shrugged, grabbing a spare menu. “Who knows about this one. I haven’t seen his hands yet, but I will gladly let you know if he’s single.”

Dropping her a wink, he readjusted his half-bun before all-but _strutting_ across the dining room. To his surprise, the man greeted him first, far too excited for 6:00 AM, nearly shouting, “Hi, there!”

He stopped, halfway across the dining room, unsure of what to say. Typically, he had no trouble with talking to customers, especially when their only interest in him was grunting out their orders, but thrown off his usual rhythm of greeting them first, he stuttered. “Oh, um, hey.”

“I’m Steve,” he said with a smile that radiated genuine warmth and outstretched his hand. This was a bad sign; the only customers who introduced themselves were either annoyingly pushy or trying to sell him a membership to a gym or Jesus. Judging by the fact that he’d already taken control of the interaction, the muscle definition that could be seen through his button-down, and the almost _too_ polite attitude, he could have been all three.

Taken aback, Bucky simply handed him the menu before realizing – _oh shit, that was supposed to be a handshake, wasn’t it?_ “James,” he spat out on instinct, suddenly feeling flushed and not from the toasters, “but my friends call me Bucky.”

“Can _I_ call you Bucky?”

He blinked. “I, uh, I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, looking down at the menu. Before Bucky turned to give him time to review both pages of breakfast options, Steve spoke up again, saying, “I think I’ll just need a minute."

“Take your time,” Bucky said automatically and retreated to the kitchen window.

As she was taking a sip of cheap earl grey, Peggy raised her eyebrows as if to ask, _Well?_

“He’s,” Bucky rested his tongue against his front teeth, trying to think of the right word, and brought it down with a click when it came to him, “odd.”

“Odd how?" 

“Like, he introduced himself to me.”

“Oh.” Wrinkles appeared on her forehead, as her brow furrowed. “That usually means-”

“I know. But, for some reason, he’s not giving me that vibe.”

“Is he giving you another kind of vibe?” Peggy asked with a smirk on her red lips.

Bucky admitted with a sigh, “I don’t know yet.”

“You usually do by now.”

“I know. That’s what’s so,” he looked back over his shoulder, thinking again.

“Odd?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe you should turn up the charm, let your hair down a little, Barnes.”

He nodded, a hint of a smile on his face for the first time since their new customer entered the restaurant. Truly, he hadn’t had the chance to guide the conversation yet to make some suggestions, ask a few leading questions. The man may have been odd, but he definitely caught Bucky’s interest. “You’re right.”

Pulling out his hair tie, he snapped the elastic against his wrist before bending over and flipping his hair back in a smooth, practiced arc.

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t mean that literally, because I’m pretty sure that breaks the health code, but-”

It didn’t matter, because Bucky was gone, sauntering past the table with new-found confidence like he was at the club instead of this shitty little diner. Finally in the corner, he took out his note pad. “You need-”

Finally looking down, he noticed that _Steve_ was gone.

“Hey,” a sheepish voice called from three or four booths behind him. He turned to find Steve sitting at a new table – a table he had passed without even seeing him.

 _Christ,_ he thought, beginning his walk of shame back to the other end of the row. _Thank God Peggy’s not out here._

“I’m so sorry, I thought this would be better for you, so you wouldn’t have to walk as far,” Steve explained, sounding sincerely apologetic.

“Well,” Bucky remembered Peggy’s question and his own intrigue, shaking off the embarrassment and softened his tone, “aren’t you sweet.”

Steve just ducked his head in response, his gaze dropping conveniently down to the menu.

Bucky tried to not let his smile appear too obvious. “You need another minute?”

Steve’s eyes – _damn,_ they were a pretty, pretty blue – darted across the page. “What do you recommend?”

The boss instructed all the wait staff to answer this question as a way to upsell as much as possible, which Bucky did, following the script with some embellishments: “The Western omelette is a classic. Eggs Benedict gets rave reviews if you’re a fan of hollandaise. The Sampler is great if you want a little taste of everything,” and added, “Personally, my favorite is the French toast.” As he spoke, he leaned across the table, pointing out the different items on the sticky plastic and even took the liberty to pluck the menu from his hands to flip it over and hand it back, forcing him to either follow his thin fingers or look into his own pretty, pretty blue eyes. _Or_ , as Bucky caught him doing, look down the V-neck of his thin, white t-shirt that was falling especially low from his stance.

Feeling a little too proud of himself, Bucky stood, as Steve cleared his throat. “I think I’ll just have four eggs, scrambled, with bacon. 

_Oh_ , so he was one of those customers who asked for his opinion but didn’t listen; perhaps, Bucky reasoned, he may have been too distracted to listen.

Nevertheless, Bucky wrote up the slip for Peggy, but before he could hand it off to her, Steve handed him back the menu. “Homefries come with that?”

Bucky took the menu with a sweet grin. “Always.”

Steve smiled back. “Sounds great.”

Practically floating back to the kitchen, Bucky waved the ticket triumphantly in the window. Peggy snatched it from him, mid-wave in front of her face. “Four eggs?” she asked skeptically.

Bucky ignored her. “He’s into me.”

Peggy ignored him. “Did you hear him correctly?”

“What?” Bucky snapped out of his daydream at the idea of him being incorrect.

“ _Four eggs_?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Peggy shrugged and cracked some eggs. “What does this guy look like?”

“Blonde hair, blue eyes. Tall, athletic.” Peggy hummed at that. “Just overall fucking _gorgeous_ , Peg.”

“And what does ‘gorgeous’ want for toast, Barnes?”

Bucky grabbed the slip from where it hung above the counter, certain that he must have asked that question. “ _Shit_.”

“Just wait a minute until this is ready,” she said, piling the mound of eggs on a plate with one hand while flipping the bacon on the grill with the other.

“Fine.” Bucky sighed and tied back his hair again. “I can’t work like this. Why did I do this again?”

Peggy snorted.

After the bacon took at least one and a half lifetimes to cook, Bucky mentally prepared himself for round three, carrying out Steve’s breakfast. “Forgot to ask, what kind of toast would you like? White, wheat, rye, sourdough, or cinnamon raisin?”

“Ew,” he said with no hesitation to the last option, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, I know.”

Steve let out a short laugh and helped Bucky set his plate down. “Wheat would be great.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks.” After Bucky got a few steps away, he called out, “Oh! And a coffee when you have the chance, please.”

Bucky paused at the waiting station; there was no way that he forgot _two_ things from his order.

“Everything alright?” Peggy asked, as Bucky ran past her to get to the toaster.

“Just peachy!” he yelled back, popping two slices of wheat onto the spinning rack and poking them with the bread knife to make them move somewhat faster.

Bucky could feel Peggy’s eyes on him as he cut and buttered the toast as fast as he could. “Damn,” she eventually said. “You’re really hung up on this guy, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I just-” Bucky poured Steve’s coffee in silence, not even flinching against the small splash against his wrist. “I don’t know. For some reason, I want to impress him.”

Peggy shrugged, her lips tight as if to keep herself from smiling, and handed him an extra plate for the toast.

“So sorry about that,” Bucky said, putting down the mug and plate. “I haven’t forgotten a drink order since my first day.” He had only forgotten a single coffee, and after the old man told him he “wasn’t cut out to be a waiter,” he vowed to never let it happen again. And he hadn’t – at least until then.

Naturally, when Bucky arrived at the table, Steve had just taken a bite. When he finished chewing, he held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t even think I told you what I wanted to drink, so you have nothing to apologize for. Really, I’m the one who should be sorry.” 

“Oh, please,” Bucky said, brushing it all off.

Steve looked at his toast. “Wow, already buttered?”

“Just for you.” That was a lie, but Bucky nodded sweetly with what may or may not have been a wink.

Ducking his head again, Steve muttered, “Thank you,” around a bite of toast.

For his own pride, Bucky needed to remember at least _one_ question: “Cream and sugar?”

“No, that’s okay, thanks. Black is fine.”

“Well,” Bucky nodded, “enjoy. Call me if you need anything else.”

“Thank you!” Steve called after him at the same time as the door chimes rang for a second time.

Bucky didn’t even look back to know who was walking in and sitting at her assigned table on the opposite wall from Steve. “Hey, Carol!”

As he delivered her coffee and sugar, she leaned close to whisper, “New customer?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Guess so.”

Returning to the toaster hideout, Bucky sliced and slipped a bagel onto the rack for Carol’s sandwich. As he waited for the two halves to fall to the bottom, he copied Steve’s check. “You signing it with James or Bucky?” Peggy asked, sautéing the onions for Carol’s homefries.

“Bucky.” He did so in his best cursive. 

“Adding a heart?”

“Ooh, good idea.”

“I didn’t mean – okay.” Bucky couldn’t tell if her expression was pity or regret while she glanced at the slip of paper. “Anything special you’re going to say?”

Bucky sighed. “I’m stuck between ‘Come again soon’ and ‘See you soon.’”

“Hm,” Peggy pretended to muse over the options as if it were important while Bucky retrieved the bagel for her to assemble. “Only one has a double entendre, but only one implies enough emotional guilt to compel him to come back.”

“You’re right, Carter. You’re always right.” 

Bucky dropped off Carol’s breakfast and rehearsed the three words in his head before approaching Steve’s table. Pulling the check from his apron, he said, “See you-”

Just like before, he was speaking to a disappointingly vacant table. Beneath his empty mug laid a twenty-dollar bill and a note written on a napkin. _Thank you, Bucky_.

“Huh,” Bucky whispered to himself, lifting the twenty. It was more than enough to cover the eight-dollar check and far too much for the rest to be his tip. Assuming he would be back for his change, he left the twelve dollars out of the register on another note to inform his fellow servers it was, _For Steve_. The note tormented him all day as he checked out other customers, wishing he could clear it off the counter, but he just _knew_ that Steve would be back soon.


	2. Tuesday

Sure enough, Steve returned the next day. After Bucky finished his morning routine of restocking, turning on, filling, twisting, cutting, double-checking, and flipping, the chimes rang out throughout the diner, reaching the kitchen where he had just started rolling silverware in front of Peggy. Bucky swung by the register to pick up the change before welcoming Steve at his table.

“Hey,” Bucky said, handing him the twelve dollars. “This is for you.”

Steve accepted the money hesitantly. “What’s this for?”

“Your change from yesterday?”

“Oh! Oh, I meant for you to keep this – like, for your tip,” he stumbled over his words as he handed it back.

Bucky accepted the money skeptically. “Okay. Since you left before I gave you the check, I figured you didn’t realize how much it was and overestimated to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You’re welcome to keep it, please.”

Bucky tensed. “Okay, well, I don’t know if this is some kind of pity thing,” he said shortly, glancing down at his prosthetic, “but I don’t need it. I mean, I _do_ need it, because it’s my job, but I’m not taking it if that’s what this is about.”

“No!” Steve raised his hands in defense. “No, not at all. I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression. I just didn’t realize this place was cash-only until I was up front, and all I had in my wallet was a twenty which I threw on the table before I had to rush out.”

“Oh,” Bucky said flatly, sounding weak to his own ears.

“I still want you to keep this. I mean, twenty percent of eight isn’t even two dollars.”

Bucky blinked in response as if to ask, _And?_

“People don’t actually tip that, do they?”

Bitterly, Bucky huffed out a laugh. “Please, I’m lucky if they tip that much. I get plenty of people who just leave me their coins, so seeing any sort of paper money on the table is exciting,” he admitted.

Steve looked appalled. “You’re joking.”

Bucky shrugged, knowing that this would all be part of the job when he started. “I wish.”

“Then, consider my tip from yesterday making up for some of those times.” Bucky looked down at the twelve dollars, feeling tempted to take it for the first time. “Please. My mom waitressed to get herself through nursing school, and my job doesn’t pay too well either, so I understand.”

One last time, Bucky offered it to him. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“One-hundred percent. I never tip less than five dollars to begin with.”

_Dear Lord, he was too damn pure_. “In that case, this can cover the tip from yesterday _and_ today and still be too much.”

Steve sighed, but his smile was still very much present. “If you insist.”

“Oh, I insist.” Bucky nodded, feeling as if he’d won, as he slipped the money into his apron. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“That’d be great, thank you.”

Maybe, just maybe, while he was getting ready that morning, Bucky dug to the bottom of the drawer and willed himself into that one pair of slightly-too-tight, black skinnies that were usually reserved for Friday nights because they hurt to sit in, but he knew that the view would be worth it when turned on his heel to go pour that cup of coffee.

When he came back, Steve appeared to be purposefully looking away, distracting himself by feigning interest in the hideously outdated floral wallpaper. “Can I get you anything else?” Bucky asked to get his attention. 

“Sure. What I had yesterday was perfect actually. Four eggs-”

“Scrambled, with bacon and homefries?”

“Wheat toast already buttered?”

“Only if you say please.”

Shyly, Steve smiled into his coffee. “You always treat your customers this well?”

Tucking his pen behind his ear, Bucky pulled a strand of hair from his face. “Only the cute ones.”

Bucky wished he could have seen Steve’s face, already walking away, but he remembered how the tips of his ears turned pink when he was caught peeking down Bucky’s shirt the day before and he smiled at that image.

“He’s back?” Peggy asked, standing on her tiptoes as if to look for him despite multiple walls being in the way.

Working for his Daytime Emmy, Bucky released his best soap opera, lady-in-waiting sigh. “As angelic as ever.”

“Angelic? If I remember correctly, yesterday, you called him ‘odd.’”

He fanned himself with his notepad, as he spoke in a breathy voice, “What can I say? Love can change a person in unimaginable ways, Margaret dearest.”

“You’ve known each other over the span of two days and for a total of less than thirty minutes, so _love_ seems a bit of a stretch, but that’s fine.”

“The heart wants-”

Peggy rolled her eyes, not hesitating to interrupt him. “Does your lovestruck angel want to eat at some point today, or would you prefer he starve?”

“Same as yesterday,” he said, handing her the slip which she read with her eyebrows raised but whisked the eggs anyway.

“I still don’t think you’re hearing him right.”

“Oh, but there has been no other soul that I _so_ longed to please,” he returned to the act, unable to keep a straight face.

Peggy scoffed as she threw the potatoes and bacon on the stove. “How about you _please_ him by not forgetting his damn toast like the last time?”

Bucky mimicked her scoff as a bluff, placing two pieces of bread into the toaster. “What do you think I’m doing in here?”

Finishing their undeclared race first, Peggy made sure to ring the bell twice just to rub it in, while Bucky stood, bent over, staring at the red-hot metal in the back of the toaster and cheering on the bread to move faster. “Bitch,” Bucky whispered to her after buttering the – _fucking hell –_ burning hot toast, while she hummed a little tune with her arms behind her back as if she had nothing else to do.

“Oh, I didn’t want your angel’s wings to wither,” she explained, and Bucky just shook his head, accepting the teasing like lemon juice in a paper cut. When he picked up the plate to carry out, she called after him, a laugh underlying each word, “Perhaps polish his halo while you’re out there!”

Gritting his teeth even though he knew her voice didn’t carry far into the restaurant over the sound of the faulty air conditioner that constantly dumped out cold air regardless of the season, Bucky presented him the plate. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, looks great. Thank you!”

Bucky couldn’t help but mirror his beaming smile. “Call for me if you do.”

The smile carried back to the kitchen window where he began to fold silverware, heaving a genuine, longing sigh. “I’ve never seen you so smitten, Barnes,” Peggy said, surprised but stating the obvious. “And over a _customer_ too.”

Bucky shrugged. “He’s sweet. Gentle. _Genuinely_ cares for people with service jobs. I mean, he’s giving me a six dollar tip today.”

“How do you know already?”

“Because we’re splitting the twelve from yesterday.”

“Hm.” She took a sip of tea as she did the math in her head. “75-percent for _your_ service?”

“I know.”

“And you don’t think he’s just interested in – _you know_?”

He shook his head. “I feel like he would have said something more directly by now.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answers and allowing herself to finally smile, Peggy sighed as well, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Well, what’s his name?”

“Steve,” Bucky sing-songed, finding the syllable to be less melodic than he had hoped.

Nevertheless, Peggy played along. “Thank the heavens for Saint Steve,” she said, placing her hands in front of her chest in a prayer position.

Bucky went back to folding silverware and Peggy looked away, thinking, remembering something fondly.

After a few more moments, Bucky copied the check and greeted Carol on the way to deliver it to Steve. "Anything else?”

“No,” Steve said, placing his napkin and silverware onto the empty plate before lifting it to hand to Bucky, “thank you. That was excellent, thanks.”

“Good. I will gladly take all of the credit,” he joked, handing him the check. “It’ll be eight dollars which I’ll take up at the register whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Bucky.”

He caught Carol watching on his way to prepare her coffee and shook his head. After popping her bagel in the toaster, he met Steve again up front where he had slung a messenger bag over his shoulder, fitting in perfectly with the sleek button-down and fitted trousers.

Once Bucky got behind the register, Steve gave him an odd number of bills: thirteen dollars. Bucky paused, eyeing the money in his hand first and then Steve. “Eight dollars?” he reiterated.

“Yup. Thanks again!” Steve said, turning to leave.

“Huh,” Bucky said to call him back before he could even take a step. “Now, my math could be off, but I believe ten plus three is thirteen.”

Obviously playing dumb, Steve gave it some thought. “Is that so? My apologies. Feel free to keep the change!”

Again, before he could leave, Bucky stopped him. “So, five dollars?” _The minimum amount you tip?_ was asked without being said.

“Guess so.”

“Steve.” Bucky sighed but was unable to urge the corners of his lips back down. “I can’t accept this on top of the six – _twelve_ , actually – you’ve already given me today.”

Appearing as stubborn as Bucky, Steve rested a hand on his hip in some kind of defensive stance. “Alright, so how about we forget about the twelve, since it was an honest mistake on my part. As for the five, how about we call it an advance? Every time I come back, I’ll still tip you, but it will technically go toward my next meal, because I started ahead. Then, the last time I come in, I won’t tip you, since it was taken care of the last time." 

Bucky followed his bullshit logic, knowing there was most definitely a trick to this but also knowing the trick would be in his benefit. “Fine,” he agreed, slipping the seventeen dollars into his apron. He felt rich; usually, it took him until ten, after the whole breakfast crowd had left, to make that much in tips. “See you tomorrow?”

Steve nodded. “Can’t wait.”

Neither could Bucky.


	3. Wednesday

For the first time since his first day of the diner job, Bucky woke up excited to go to work. He realized, as he went through the routine that what he was actually feeling, buzzing in the pit of his stomach, was nervousness. 

_Why?_

He never felt nervous. Even during the rare morning rushes, he remained cool, level-headed. Annoying customers made him mad more than anything else, but he delivered their picky orders with the same certainty as any other customer, confident in his own abilities to remember the finicky details. On Friday nights, he danced shamelessly with strangers without a second thought. Sure, he rehearsed his order a few times in his head before repeating it to the handsome owner of the café/bakery next door, but didn’t everyone do that?

Feeling nervous was new, and he decided that maybe it was _okay_.

After finishing his chores on autopilot, he waited, drumming his fingertips against the countertop at the register. Peggy said that standing up front made him look desperate, like a puppy waiting for its owner to return home; Bucky reassured her that his excitement was endearing.

Still, he toned down the enthusiasm when he saw Steve through the door before the chimes could even ring. “Morning, stranger,” Bucky called out, choosing to play it cool, as Steve joined him at the register, looking fine as hell in a coral button-down and navy pants.

“Good morning, Bucky.” Steve greeted him with that same priceless smile. 

“Shall I follow you to your table?” Bucky asked, gesturing with the menu.

“Sure, and I’ll save you from hauling over the menu. I think I’ll just stick with the same.”

Bucky followed him to the back-corner booth, asking, “Want me to start that?”

“Actually,” Steve said while taking his seat, “you can wait a little bit. I got to work way too early yesterday, and I’m still not ready to socialize with my new coworkers.”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll just give you a few moments then?”

As he took a few steps backward, Steve offered, hopefully, blushing as he spoke, “Or – you could stay out here? Maybe sit with me. If you can. Or if you’d like.”

Bucky paused and looked down at him fondly. “Okay. I still have some silverware I need to roll in the back, but I guess I can bring it out if that’s alright with you?”

“Please. I don’t mean to get in the way of your work.”

Bucky shook his head, saying, “Not a problem,” and continued, shaking his head, as the smile broadened on his face when he reached the kitchen.

Peggy waited for him to speak first, and when he didn’t, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Sitting with him,” he said, nearly giggling as he lifted the tray of silverware along with a stack of napkins and strips of paper holders.

Her eyebrows reached acrobatic heights. “Quite bold of you.”

“ _He_ asked _me_.”

“Huh.” She blinked. “Quite bold of him.”

“I know!”

“Hey, Bucky,” she said after he turned his back to leave. “Wipe the drool from your mouth, puppy dog.”

Balancing the tray on his forearm, he poured a mug of coffee for Steve who looked impressed when he brought it all over to the table. “Thank you,” he said and helped to rearrange everything to make the tray fit. “You know, I’ve always wondered how this is done.” He laid a napkin out flat, following Bucky’s lead, as if he was going to help. “Will you show me?”

Bucky hesitated, feeling like this was their conversation from the day before, expecting another trick. “Okay,” he said finally. “It’s not that hard." 

It really wasn’t: just knife, fork, spoon, flip up the bottom, roll, wrap the damn sticky paper around it to secure, throw on the pile, and repeat. Just another process. Steve seemed to follow the process – _relatively_ well. “Like this?” he asked, holding up a horribly lopsided roll of silverware.

Bucky ripped off the paper and handed it back before starting his third. “Try again.”

Smiling shyly, Bucky watched him place and fold and roll with unbelievable precision, tongue peeking out of the side of his mouth. “How’s this?” he asked after Bucky finished his fourth.

“Not bad,” Bucky replied honestly. “Technically against code to have the knife exposed, but that’s not the only thing against code in this restaurant.”

Steve laughed. “You’re fantastic at selling your brand.”

“In my defense, there isn’t that much special about this place. The food’s not that great – not to our chef’s fault, because she isn’t supplied with the right ingredients or tools. So, really, I have no clue why you keep coming back.”

Looking up through blonde lashes, playful, Steve gave him a half-smile and a shrug. “Impeccable service.”

Bucky felt the nerves come back, but he smiled anyway. When Steve reached for another napkin, he swatted his hand away. “I’m not letting you do the rest of this for me. No matter how sweet your offer is, this is _my_ work to do, and it’s actually one of the parts of the job that I don’t mind, unlike most servers. I think the repetition is calming.”

Steve gave him an exaggerated frown. “But how am I going to get any better?” 

“Fine,” Bucky agreed reluctantly, unable to handle feeling his heart strings pulled so tightly, but with one condition: “I’ll let you do a couple – _at most_. I highly doubt you need to be proficient in this skill at your job, which, by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you about.”

Far too happy to be rolling another set of silverware, Steve dropped the frown and picked up a knife, fork, and spoon. “I’m a teacher.”

_Oh_ , Bucky thought. That explained the business-casual attire, but damn, there were no teachers in any way, shape, or fucking form that looked like Steve when he was in high school. “Gym teacher?”

Steve shook his head with a light-hearted chuckle. “I do help coach the baseball team, but no. Art, actually.”

“Well, if I had _you_ as an art teacher, maybe I actually would have paid attention in class.” Steve tried to hide his grin, but Bucky still caught it. “Do any of your students draw you? I mean, you’re a pretty eye-catching subject."

Again, Steve laughed. “Considering my oldest students are eight, no. They tend to stick to stick-figures and shapes or the occasional abstract animal.” He finished rolling the first one and added it to the pile. “What about your job? Have you always been a server?”

“No,” Bucky said and cleared his throat, involuntarily looking away. “After school, I went military, and that ended – abruptly. My friend recommended this place for me to work to myself busy.”

Steve nodded, understanding and sympathetic, but making no attempt to apologize for something that was not in any way his fault. Bucky appreciated that.

“So, do you like it? Working here?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, it’s not bad. Customers can be difficult, but that’s part of the job.”

“I’m sure.” Steve paused before rolling the napkin to smirk to himself.

“What?”

He cocked his head to the side as if still wondering whether to ask the question or not before apparently deciding, _Why not?_ “You ever spit in someone’s food?”

Expecting a much more risqué inquiry, Bucky snorted and chose to take it there himself, saying as flirtatiously serious as possible, dropping his voice. “Only if they’re into that.”

Thankfully, Steve laughed rather than seeming uncomfortable. “So, no one then?”

“No,” Bucky admitted. “Although I _have_ served an English muffin that I dropped on the ground.” Eyebrows raised like Peggy, Steve looked horrified but also desperately wanting to hear this story. “Listen! This woman at a table of maybe five or six people changed her order on me like three times, first wanting her sandwich on toast then a croissant then a goddamn English muffin. So I got to the back, made everyone else’s toast, tended to all of my other customers, and when the order was ready, I realized I forgot her muffin. Not only was this the last muffin in the bag, but it was also the last muffin in the entire restaurant, because our owners don’t do shit about keeping adequate inventory.

“Okay, so I watched the muffin spin through the toaster and took it out as soon as it was done, so it was _scalding_ hot. Usually, I can handle hot plates and all that, but when I picked up this muffin from hell, all I could do was juggle it and watch it fall oh-so anticlimactically to the floor. All the while, our cook is ringing the bell at me, because she has more orders and this table should have gone out minutes before. So, I could’ve either taken out this order without the woman’s and have her bitch at me, put the sandwich on something else and have her bitch at me, or serve it anyway, knowing that she’d be none the wiser and save myself the stress.”

Steve smiled the entire time he told the story, listening intently to every word. “So what you’re saying is: find a new place to get breakfast?”

Bucky matched his smirk. “What I’m saying is: don’t order an English muffin and don’t be a bitch to me.”

In the close proximity of the booth, their legs brushed against each other, and Bucky realized that was kind of nice. He also realized that Steve had rolled quite a few more than two sets; that was nice too.

“Have you ever spit on a student’s artwork?” Bucky asked jokingly.

“God no!” Steve almost shouted but still laughed. “I’ve spilled bourbon on my _own_ artwork, but that’s only because the guy I was seeing at the time was under-” This time, it was Bucky who raised his eyebrows, first at the notion that _Steve saw guys_ , as well as desperately wanting to hear this story. “You know what? That part of the story isn’t all that important. What _is_ important is me trying to bullshit my professor into believing the stain was intentional, because I didn’t have enough time to start over. I called it ‘In the Heat of the Moment’ and just hoped the old bastard wasn’t too much of a prude.”

_Wow_ , Bucky thought, _that was_ a lot. He enjoyed seeing this part of Steve – bold and daring despite bathing in self-inflicted blush.

Rather than push the limits, Bucky asked a genuine question: “So do you prefer to draw more realistic?”

“Somewhat. When I was younger, I used to be more into hyper-realism, trying to take down every little detail like my life depended on it with harsh, harsh lines and sharp angles in pencil or charcoal like every other angsty, teen artist. Then, in college, I sort of eased up on myself. For one of my Masters portfolios, I did a whole study on formless art where I just tried to use blocks of color to represent themes and emotions, and – I should really stop boring you with me blabbering on about art techniques, because I could go on for hours and hours.”

He dropped his gaze, embarrassed, but Bucky shook his head. “No! Please, I – I wish I felt that passionately about something. And, honestly, I think I’d love for you to sit here all day and tell me about you or your art or just about anything else, really.”

His blush deepened when he met Bucky’s eyes again – the tips of his ears as sweet, rosy red as the over-ripened strawberries in the fridge that Bucky probably should have been cutting at this time. But, thank God, Bucky was sitting right where he was to hear Steve say, “And here I thought I was the biggest creep for coming back to this place two days in a row for a chance to flirt with their pretty waiter.”

Fighting off his own blush, Bucky laughed. “I _wish_ all the customers that flirted with me had that sense of self-awareness.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think about that, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine all the people who have no sense of boundaries that stop by here.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine at all, but mostly it’s just old men when I bring them their coffee being like, ‘I don’t need sugar. Dip your finger in, because you’re sweet enough.’”

Cringing, Steve’s eyes widened with visible fear. “Christ, what decade are we living in again?”

“That’s more or less manageable,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I’m just glad I’ve only had maybe one encounter that made me want to call the cops.”

“What happened?” Steve asked, tensing.

Bucky smiled, ready to entertain with another of his go-to prepared stories. “Okay, so he started off by asking me for my name which is always a red flag.” Steve nearly choked on his coffee, looking ready to apologize again. “Then, while I was waiting for his order, he called me over like he needed me for something, and out of nowhere, he grabbed my hand like this.” After feeling how warm and soft his artists’ hands were, Bucky had to remind himself where he was in the narrative. “Then, he asked me if I wanted to hear a riddle.”

Steve, anxiously, shook his head, and his hold on Bucky’s hand tightened. “Fuck no.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smirk, finding the story funny now after having plenty of time to reflect and telling it to many of his friends and coworkers, but knew how wildly creepy it was to hear for the first time. “That’s what I said, but he decided to tell it to me anyway. So, ‘There’s a little farm house here,’ he said and poked me lightly in the forearm. ‘There’s a river almost a mile wide that separates it from the town.’” As Bucky ran his fingers up and down Steve’s forearm to draw the map the way the old man had, Steve didn’t flinch once at the metal prosthetic touching his skin the way some people reacted. He looked incredibly appalled at the story and only the story, which made the damn jitters in Bucky’s stomach return. “‘A fire breaks out at the farm house, and the fire department is across the river in the down. How does the fire department get to the farm house?’”

Steve blinked in silence, waiting for another piece of the puzzle that never came.

“So that’s what I said. For a solid thirty seconds, this guy just sat there, clamping onto my hand until his wrinkly fingers got sweaty-”

“Ew.”

“Yeah, I know. This guy looks me dead in the eye – dead like he’ll be in give or take a month,” Steve was too terrified to laugh in the moment, but Bucky knew that he would when he heard the story again, “and he said to me, ‘I don’t know either, but it sure was nice to hold your hand.’"

In utter agony, Steve bared his teeth and shuttered while Bucky unclasped their hands. “Bucky, that’s the scariest story I’ve ever heard in my life. How are you alive right now?”

Bucky shrugged and gave a half-apologetic smile. “And that’s not even half as bad as what the girls have to deal with – and on a more regular basis too.”

Steve’s face paled even further. “You’re right,” he said, sighing and shaking his head like he was ashamed. “That’s why I think it’s so incredibly important to teach kids respect when they’re young. So that they don’t do shit like this when they’re older or think harassing women is okay. I mean, how hard is it to care about people and understand that we’re all human beings and just be kind?”

“You’re a good man, Steve, and I feel a lot safer, knowing that you’re teaching the future generations.”

He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do. You know, I’ve always thought of the lessons of acceptance and equality that I could teach my classes by introducing them to my boyfriend-”

Bucky felt his heart _drop_. As if the floor fell out from under him, he nodded along to whatever Steve was saying, the ringing in his ears, completely tuning out any semblance of words. “Oh,” he said, quietly when Steve stopped talking. “I, uh, didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”

The realization of what he had said flashed in waves in front of Steve’s eyes, along with another flush of red, fumbling the English language like Bucky with a hot English muffin, “No! No, I meant more like if I did. If I do – _when_ I do."

Feeling the shattered remains of his heart be swept up and slowly pieced back together, Bucky allowed himself to smile gently, just the corners of his lips raising as he thought about how he wanted to phrase this. “Well,” he decided. “is there anyone in the picture, I guess as your students would say, you have a crush on?”

With a silent huff of a laugh, Steve nodded, as a hint of a smile appeared on his face as well, although his gaze stayed lowered shyly. “Yeah. There’s definitely someone.”

Bucky’s newly-reformed heart raced, warm and buzzing. “And do they like you back?”

Smirking, Steve met his eyes – that schoolboy shyness replaced by practiced charisma. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Hm,” Bucky could only say in response while he borrowed Steve’s blush. Clearing his throat, he remembered his own confidence. “Maybe you should write them a note, ask to check ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Bucky stayed silent, not wanting to embarrass Steve any further, and watched him busy himself by flattening out another napkin and then placing down a knife and fork. When he reached for a spoon to complete the set, his eyes first fell on the empty container and then to Bucky’s eyes who were patiently waiting for him to realize that were, “All done! For some reason, we always run out of spoons first. Thanks for the help, but you were still quite a few over your quota and don’t think I won’t forget that.”

After loading all of the bundles of silverware onto the tray, Bucky rose from the table, balancing it on his hip. “Can I start your order now?”

“Please. Thank you.”

Peggy stood, waiting impatiently, at the kitchen window with her arms crossed. “Is he odd or angelic today?”

Looking down at the rolls of silverware – some perfect and some needing more practice – Bucky thought of how Steve volunteered to help with this chore without even asking. How comfortable and natural it felt to sit in the tiny booth with their legs tangled together as they spoke with such ease it was if they had known each other for years. “Something,” he said. The description was vague but certain.

“Something?”

Bucky nodded, repeating himself. “He’s really, really _something_.”

And he was. He was an elementary school art teacher who loved his work and wanted to change the world. He cared about servers getting paid a living wage. He worried for Bucky’s safety and the safety of his coworkers that he had never met. He wanted to teach respect and acceptance, equality and fairness. He flirted like he had never met another human before but also like he had charmed every person on the planet. And, somehow, he looked even prettier with his face bright red.

He was hard to define, but Bucky knew he liked that a lot.

When Bucky brought out his food, Steve was, again, nothing but polite with a copious, unnecessary amount of ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s.

After Bucky left him with his check to tend to other customers, Steve had left a note on the back alongside the thirteen dollars.

_Do you like me? Yes or No._


	4. Thursday

Early Thursday morning, Bucky received a text from Natasha: _Hey, can you switch shifts with me? That stupid cake testing thing got pushed back to noon and I need the hours to pay for the stupid cake testing thing._

Bucky sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. Too anxious to sleep, he was just sitting up in bed, thinking about how unbelievable this week had been. _Yeah, that’s fine_.

She replied almost immediately. _Thanks, Barnes, you’re the best!!_

Letting his phone lay open on his chest, he watched the harsh, blue light cast shadows onto his bare walls before snatching it up again. _Can you do me a favor?_

_Sure_.

_There’s a note in my apron pocket that I left from yesterday._ He hesitated to hit ‘send’ on the next message, _Can you give it to a customer name Steve?_

_Okay?_

_He’ll probably be there at like 6:15. You’ll know him when you see him._

_????_

_Just promise me you won’t read it_.

She waited a minute before responding. _Wasn’t going to until you said that._

_Nat please._

_Don’t worry about it. I won’t read it… maybe ;)_

Leaving the message open, Bucky rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He counted the exact number of seconds before giving up on sleep, getting to 57 before flipping back over and grabbing his phone again.

_Actually,_ he typed _, I should probably be there to give it to him myself. Thanks though._

_Whatever you prefer. Still reading the note though_.

Bucky fell back against his pillows, considering if maybe he should have let her give him the note anyway. Forcing himself to stop worrying about it, he distracted himself by swaying in and out of sleep.

A few hours later, he woke up to a new text from Nat:

_That note better be your number and directions to your apartment. If it’s not, I’m giving him mine :P_


	5. Friday

Bucky greeted Natasha by pulling a strand out of her ballet-training-perfected bun. “You’re lucky I don’t scare easily, or this boiling water would be in your face right now,” she said matter-of-factly without even looking up from the teapot she was filling.

She tucked the hair back in and joined Bucky in filling a tray with glasses of tap water. “Did your fiancé have anything to say about you giving your number and address to a customer?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, immediately as always. “He said to give him _his_ as well.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he delivered the tray to the reserved table.

Once a month, the owner of the indie tech startup down the street bought breakfast for all twenty-five or so members of his team. Between the two of them, Bucky and Natasha had boiled it down to an exact science. They came in early to preemptively put pots of hot water, carafes of coffee, glasses of water, jams and jellies, butter and creamer, syrups and honey, and all three types of sugars on the tables – the little things that took up time when they didn’t have it. Bucky started toasting a whole loaf of white, while Natasha took care of the wheat; the counter under the heat lamp was soon covered in triangular slices of toast. They each waited on one of the two long tables, and at the end, the boss covered the entire check. By 7:00, Bucky and Natasha usually pocketed about twenty-five dollars each, and all it took was about an hour of constant movement, stress, and organized chaos.

Right in the middle of that chaos on that particular day, Bucky remembered that he had somehow forgotten to look out for his favorite customer when the chimes rang out miraculously louder than the noise of the packed diner. He looked up from the plates he was serving to see Steve looking around, confused and surprised. Raising a hand, Bucky let him know that he’d be with him in a second.

“Hey,” Bucky said, out of breath when he reached his table and wiping his butter-covered hands on his apron. “Sorry I don’t really have time to chat today.”

“No, I see that. That’s fine! I actually don’t have a lot of time either. I’m running a little late.”

Bucky glanced at his watch. 6:30; _huh,_ he _was_ a little late. Bucky hadn’t even realized that much time had passed. Time flew when he ran around the diner in hunt of a veggie, egg-white omelette that Peggy insisted she had made and Natasha insisted she had not sold. “I can get her started on your usual right away-”

“You know, I think I may switch up my order today. I’m more in the mood for three slices of French toast.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, stunned, “yeah, sure. Butter and syrup, or powdered sugar?”

“What do you prefer?”

Sheepishly, Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and answered quietly, “All three.”

Steve smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

“Coffee?”

“Uh, no, actually. I think I’ll just get it at the school today. Thank you.”

“Found your omelette, Barnes,” Natasha said, passing by but stopping in her tracks when she saw who was in the booth, and all-but purred, “Hi there, blue eyes. Welcome back.”

Bucky glared, looking only at her, instead of his pen, as he wrote a fresh slip for Peggy. “I see you met Natasha yesterday. Did she introduce you to her fiancé who works next door? Baker during the weekdays and acrobat on the weekends? Competes in amateur archery tournaments?”

Shaking his head, Steve looked at Natasha like Bucky wasn’t in on the joke, which only made his glare more ferocious. “No,” Steve said, “but he sounds fascinating.”

Behind her permanent stone-cold expression, Bucky knew that Natasha was grinning devilishly. “I’ll bring this right out for you,” he said and retreated to the kitchen.

In the time it took Peggy to put out the French toast, Bucky delivered the rest of the meals, refilled drinks, and cleared clean plates.

He brought out Steve’s breakfast to find an empty table, and he frowned. Attached to a twenty-dollar bill was a note which read:

_Please enjoy breakfast on me when you have the chance to catch your breath._

_P.S. If the tip is too much and offends you, please feel free to split it with Natasha._

_Thanks for everything._

Dumbfounded, with the plate growing heavy in his hand, Bucky reread the note. He had never been treated by a customer and had never once expected it.

Out of nowhere, Natasha popped in over his shoulder. “Someone’s in love,” she whispered and blew the pesky strand of hair directly into his face.

He rested the plate onto the table for later.

As he finished tending to their party, he tried to figure out whether Natasha was referring to Steve or himself and which, if not both, options was accurate.


	6. Saturday

Bucky came into work with the mindset of: _This was it._ This was the day that he was confronting everything, settling every score and asking the questions that needed to be answered. What were they doing? Where was it going? Was it _even_ going anywhere? If it ever got there, was he really ready for a relationship? Did he want that?

An entire work week of sleepless nights had, at the very least, given him the answers to some of these questions. Without Steve’s opinion, he couldn’t say for certain, but he had a feeling that their relationship was at the beginning of something a whole lot more than server/customer. Whether things would progress gradually, continuing to grow morning after morning, like they had been, or strike a spark for the whole thing to be engulfed in wildfire in an instant, he had no idea, but he knew for certain that he liked the sound of either scenario. He wanted someone in his life that he could rely on more than a friend and wake up to every morning with a smile. He wanted someone that would make him laugh when he needed it or listen to him rant, allow him to cry and to scream when he couldn’t hold it any longer. He wanted someone to be his damn date to Natasha and Clint’s wedding.

In reality, he didn’t know if Steve was that person, and if he was being honest with himself, that was all a remarkable amount of responsibility to place upon someone. There was absolutely the possibility that Steve didn’t want anything more than a friendly face to serve him breakfast. If that was the case, then Bucky had some clear answers and could detach himself emotionally, maybe even be able to finally get some sleep.

Regardless of the hypotheticals, there was only one way to find out for sure.

Bucky sat at Steve’s booth, wringing his hands and watching the entrance. His elbow stuck to the table – syrup that he needed to wipe off better. But before he could do so, Steve walked in, greeting him with a lopsided grin from across the room. “I must be pretty lucky to see you almost every day. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here this morning,” he said as he slid into the booth.

“I should be the one saying that, considering it’s a Saturday and you’re still here at this godforsaken time.”

“Don’t really sleep anyway.” Steve shrugged. “I’m just glad I have a chance to speak with you this time.”

“Me too. I wanted to thank you for breakfast yesterday. It was incredibly unnecessary.” As if expecting this lecture, Steve shrugged again. “And I apologize for not being able to warn you in advance for not being here or being so busy, but I guess I don’t exactly have your number or – anything, really.”

“No, I know, and it’s totally fine. If you wouldn’t mind me borrowing a pen, I’ll gladly give you my number to, you know, avoid any further confusion.”

Without any thought, Bucky handed him a pen and ripped a page out of his notebook. He eagerly watched Steve write down each digit, stuck in teacher mode, in large, precise numbers. Steve, just as excited, handed back the paper, but as soon as it met Bucky’s fingers, he froze. The light, playful smile vanished from Steve’s face as his eyes widened, focusing on the corner behind Bucky’s left shoulder. “Peggy,” he whispered like a reflex, not something he intended to say out loud.

Bucky whipped his head around to see her standing there perfectly still with her hand over her mouth in shock. Caught in the middle, he turned back to Steve who remained just as still, and in that moment,

It clicked.

_Steve_.

How had he not put it together? He knew he’d heard Peggy say that name before – in a conversation about their past relationships.

Excusing himself from the table without saying a word, Bucky fled to the kitchen, backing Peggy through the hallway where she was standing. “Steve is your ex,” he said, not confrontational or angry but more stunned and maybe even a little sad, “not just any ex, but _the_ ex.”

She nodded, struggling to catch her breath and find her voice, nervous in a way that he had never, _ever_ seen.

The details of the story rushed back to him as sharp pinpricks against his skin. “Peggy,” he started, feeling his voice beginning to collapse, “he _proposed_ to you.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice so fragile.

Bucky shook his head in utter disbelief; _he couldn’t believe this_. Finally, _finally,_ he had found someone who cared about him and treated him to breakfast when he was stressed. He kept coming back to a terrible diner just to see him. He was _Peggy’s ex_.

Before he could run, she grabbed his arm, finding her composure in a way that he envied. “Yes. He did. And if you remember correctly, I told him _no._ I was young and scared, and I wasn’t ready for that level of commitment-”

“You’re not anymore."

“We aren’t together anymore.” She sighed heavily. “I still don’t think I’m ready for that, Bucky.”

Everything was still swirling around his head too fast for him to comprehend, and he rested his forehead against her shoulder to steady himself. “Then why did you two look at each other like that?"

She almost laughed. “I haven’t seen him in over five years. I never thought I’d see him again.”

“Then how perfect is this? Brought back together. It’s like all those rom-com’s you’ve drug me to see.”

“Bucky,” she said and lifted his face, resting her hands on his shoulders. “It’s over between us. He’s moved on. He’s found someone else.”

He didn’t want to believe it; he _couldn’t_ believe it.

Bucky shook his head. “He looked at you like a dream come true.”

“Clearly, you haven’t seen the way he looks at you. Like the world rests on your shoulders and you can do no wrong, like all he cares about is making you happy. I’ve seen it before, and this time, it certainly was not aimed at me.”

“You didn’t know-”

“No. I guess I considered it when you first told me his name, but I couldn’t imagine it would possibly be him. I needed something from the refrigerator out there, and when I saw, well – you saw what happened.”

“I liked him, Peggy. I liked him so damn much, but I can’t do this now that I know who he is. I can’t date your ex. I _won’t_.”

Again, Peggy took his face in her hands, as patient as always. “Yes. You can, and you should. What you could have would be the most wonderful, beautiful thing. He is the most amazing man in the world, and I truly wish I could have loved him the way he loved me – the way he deserves to be loved. I know it’s sudden and it’s hard to believe, but I _know_. He – he loves you. I would never forgive you if you passed up an opportunity to be loved by Steve Rogers.”

Bucky blinked, blinking away the sting in his eyes, the doubt, the fear, all the reasons he had been making up to justify why he wasn’t worth this. “Okay.”

When Bucky returned to the dining room, Steve was pacing the couple feet between the booth and the next table. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea-” Steve began to say as soon as he saw him, but Bucky silenced him by extending his arm.

“Hi,” he said, completely ignoring Steve and acting like this was completely normal. “I’m Bucky, and I’ll be your server today. You can sit wherever you’d like.”

Starting confused, Steve opened his mouth but closed it with a smile. He shook Bucky’s hand and then switched his grasp just to hold it, guiding them into the booth and humoring him. “I’m Steve.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dropping the fake one he used with _difficult_ customers for the real thing, Bucky smiled back. “And you’re easily the most genuine, caring customer I have ever had the privilege to serve. I feel lucky to be in your presence, and when you walk in the room, it’s like all the weight I’ve been holding for years is lifted. You make me laugh and blush and forget the world exists, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt that way. I actually don’t think I’ve ever felt _this_ way in my entire life. I really don’t care that you dated one of my closest friends. All I care about right now is keeping you in my life so I can get to know you outside of serving you your eggs, bacon, and toast. When you first walked in on Monday, I thought you were going to be the biggest pain in my ass, but you’ve turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

Throughout the entire time he spoke, the words flowing out of his mouth like he’d rehearsed them, Steve continued to hold his hand, supportive, interlacing their fingers and gently rubbing his thumb against the back of Bucky’s hand. He listened to every single syllable like they were the most important things in the world, like he could listen for hours and hours, like he cared just as much, if not _more._

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said after Steve didn’t reply. “That was kind of a lot to take in.”

“No, don’t be. I feel-”

Of course, the door chimes had to interrupt him in that exact moment, of course; _dammit_ , Bucky wished he locked the door and switched the _OPEN_ sign to _CLOSED_.

He looked up to see a group of five tourists wander into the diner, appearing lost, desperate for cheap pancakes, and ready to bitch at and under-tip their distracted but hardworking waiter.

Sighing, Bucky rose slowly from the table, untangling their hands at the very last moment. “If I want to keep my job, I think I might have to tend to these people, but – tomorrow. I don’t work in the morning, so how would you feel about coming in and having our first real date?”

“Here?”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, why not? You know, after all these years working here, I’ve never been a customer.”

“Well,” Steve began, considering his words carefully, “the food isn’t exactly – the best?”

That was no surprise to Bucky. “How’s the service?”

“Oh, the best.”

Playfully hitting his shoulder as he walked away from their booth, he called over his own, “I look forward to our mediocre breakfast tomorrow.”

Steve called back at him, “Am I not allowed to have breakfast today, then?”


	7. Sunday

6:00 AM, _fuck_. His one morning off, and he still stood at the entrance to this damn diner, staring down at his phone. As she unlocked the door, last in _her_ routine, Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be home?” she asked as she opened the door for him – not _holding_ it for him, though, just opening it and letting it fall back against him while she walked away.

Bucky rubbed a hand over the spot on his arm where the doorknob hit. “Shouldn’t you be nicer to your customers?”

“You’re a customer today? Thought you might have forgotten your paycheck on Friday. God forbid you miss out on those fifty dollars.”

“I actually have a date.”

The look in her eyes consisted of a mix between confusion, pity, and light-hearted humor. “So why are you stopping here first?”

“Because,” Bucky started, realizing how much he wished he could lie, “the date is here.”

Folding in her lips, Bucky could tell that she was trying very hard to hold in a laugh, but the corners of her lips curling like a cartoon gave it away. “ _Here_ here?”

“Only because we have history with this place.”

He sighed, wondering if it was too late to call in Wanda to take Natasha’s place; meanwhile, Natasha, appeared to be bubbling with intrigue. “It’s with blue eyes, isn’t it?”

“His name is Steve, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ruin this for me.” If she wasn’t so damn smug and he wasn’t so damn nervous, he would just as schoolgirl-sleepover-excited. “But – yeah.”

She clasped her hands together and looked as if ready to hug him if they both didn’t know how much she despised most physical contact. “Oh, I plan to treat you better than any other customer I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t think that’s a very high bar.”

“Just you wait, James,” she said, not in any way reassuring him.

He settled into their booth, ignoring the idea that _they_ had a booth, and handed the menus back to Natasha. “We don’t need these.”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted, forcing his hands back down. “Gives you something to talk about.”

“How bad the food is?”

“How fortunate you were to meet here,” she said gently, as if giving genuine advice for the first time, and Bucky smiled with a nod. “Plus, it builds tension.” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You know, little glances over the top of the menu at each other.”

“That how Barton win you over?”

“You’re the one who checked ‘yes’ on the pasta option, so you tell me.” Smoothly, she leaned down to press a quick kiss against his cheek before spinning on her heel to greet other customers.

From his vantage point in the back of the diner, he watched the Sunday morning crowd trickle in, mostly elderly couples stopping in before church. Every person who wasn’t Steve made his heartbeat raise and anxious thoughts fill his head. What if he had second thoughts? What if he didn’t want to take this any further than casual flirting at breakfast? What if-

What if he was speed-walking to the table, already emphatically apologizing with his eyes? “I am so sorry. I can’t stand being late to things, but I realized we never actually set a time for today, so I didn’t know-”

“It’s okay,” Bucky interrupted to reassure him, “I was the one who was early.”

Steve sighed out a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Okay,” he said as he took his seat. He gave Bucky a relaxed smile and shook his head, as if unable to believe he was sitting in front of him. “You look incredible.”

Hearing that relieved a lot more of the stress Bucky was holding from changing his outfit at least three times that morning. He felt confident in the leather jacket but realized that Steve had only seen him in white t-shirts like the one he usually wore beneath it. Switching to a black one made him change from black jeans to ripped classic denim, but he hated the way they exaggerated his thighs and changed back. An all-black ensemble? Maybe, he decided, he could pull it off as long as he wore it as high-fashion runway as opposed to emo-kid funeral. (He still hesitated at the doorway and had to force himself through.)

But, thankfully, he had apparently made the right choice, judging from the way Steve’s eyes darted across his collar. “Thank you,” Bucky said coolly. “You look pretty nice yourself.”

Steve looked down at his usual dress shirt. “I’m starting to feel underdressed.”

Bucky considered for a moment if it was too early to make a risky comment but took the risk anyway. “I mean, you’re more than welcome to be less dressed.”

Without responding, Steve lifted his menu to hide his blush, but his perfectly clear eyes gave way to his own devilish grin, an idea stirring behind them. He extended his arm, laying his palm open on the table, asking for Bucky’s hand. Bucky eyed his offer, questioning, but laid down his hand as well. For a moment, Steve just held his hand, occasionally running his thumb across Bucky’s knuckles until the silence grew nearly unbearable. “Do you want to hear a riddle?”

They both laughed, separated, and turned to their menus.

When Natasha came to take their orders, she looked more than pleased to see them stealing glances over top of the plastic.

They kept their orders the same, predictable but natural. The conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next, talking as if they were already the best of friends. No awkward pauses, no searching for another question to ask, no major deal breakers. Bucky even felt comfortable enough to take a piece of toast from Steve’s plate when it arrived. When he protested, Bucky shrugged. “You know damn well I know your eating habits, and this would be going to waste anyway.”

Steve just smiled and threw him an orange marmalade when he asked.

They ate together in peace, alternating between taking bites of their breakfasts and casual conversation.

At some point, Bucky looked over to see Natasha at the register, absolutely beaming as she talked to a certain scrawny blonde that still somehow exuded boyish charm. The way she smiled lit up her entire face in a way that he had only ever seen when she was with him; Bucky couldn’t help but smile himself at the outspoken joy. Steve noticed and followed his line of sight, connecting the dots in disbelief. “That’s not?”

“Yup.”

“ _That_ kid?”

“Yup.”

“Engaged to _her_?”

Bucky didn’t reply right away, waving politely at Clint when he caught them looking and then muttering from the side of his mouth, “Luckiest bastard in the world, right?”

“Nah,” Steve said, “I think I have to take that honor for myself.”

Bucky dropped his gaze to his plate and hoped all the black could mask his blush.

After they finished their meals, their plate long-since having been cleared and mugs refilled for the second or third time, Bucky felt their conversation coming to a natural close with one question left burning in his mind. “Can I ask you a question?”

Steve gave him a look that read, _Haven’t you already done that this entire time?_

Bucky interpreted that as an affirmative and asked, “Why so many eggs?”

Snickering into his coffee, Steve shook his head. “I know this sounds dumb, but I’ve always felt that eggs lose about half their mass when they’re scrambled. I don’t know, I just don’t get full after two eggs.” He set down his mug with another short, silent laugh to himself. “Would you believe me if I told you my go-to order was actually five eggs? I guess you misheard me that first day, but it’s probably a good thing that I start cutting down my egg consumption anyway.”

_Huh._ As it turned out, Peggy Carter had been right about multiple things. First, Bucky had absolutely seen the wedding ring on the lumberjack so that she’d waste her turn introducing herself first to a hot customer; in retrospect, this had worked infinitely to his benefit but still something she was one-hundred percent correct about. Second, as he would discover over the next few months, being loved by Steve Rogers was, in fact, a wonderful, beautiful thing. And, third, after all that time, Bucky _had_ fucked up Steve’s order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I really do hope you enjoyed this little ditty just as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)


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